Cocoa Mist

In white wash, pale, gaunt stainless pubs

Clubs

and late night bars

Where bleached sterile colourless colded

Folded

thoughts neatly stored away

Bored away

with stilted disinfected clean

Entertainment machines,

drinkeries and chameleon venues

Where you

aborb the sharp clean lines

Defines,

delineates too clearly the contrasts

Nothing lasts

No,

Give me the scars and finger marked doors,

Foot worn floors

and mascara run paint,

Faint

lights and shadows,

Of the hallowed

sacred solitude of the men’s room

Midnight moon

hued walls, but I’ll remember just this

The colour of Cocoa Mist